


say you're gonna hold my head up

by valkyrierising



Category: NCIS
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Missing Scene, Sharing a Bed, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 16:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyrierising/pseuds/valkyrierising
Summary: The boat goes up in a ball of flames and all she can think of is “Is Torres okay?”





	say you're gonna hold my head up

The boat goes up in a ball of flames and all she can think of is “Is Torres okay?”

 

Well actually, her first thought is, “son of a bitch,” because she left the gun in the van and only Nick was carrying at the moment they left the car. She regrets the fact that they did prostitute and angry ex for this sting if only because she would kill for any type of clothing that could conceal a gun. She really misses that gun.

 

There’s smoke and wetness to the air as she coughs. Cold wood at her back reminds her of her position on the bridge floor. Where the boat went off, she’s thankful that the bridge they’re on is still in one piece. The ringing in her ears makes getting up difficult, her body curling in on itself as it tries to right side everything up. 

 

“You alright Luis?” She says, willing her body upright. She refuses to say his name in case the perp is still around, blowing their cover. “Luis!” She yells again as her hands scrabble on the bridge, trying to see if she could feel him out as her vision tried to come back after the knock-out. She feels slightly woozy but nothing half a bottle of advil can’t fix. 

 

She meets cold wood for a while, dragging her knees as she pulls herself up to keep looking for her partner until she feels the brush of familiar denim and the body it was on. She blinks back the stars from the corner of her eyes, willing herself to stay conscious as she scans the surrounding areas for the perp who may have been watching to see their handiwork.

 

“Torres respond if you are alive,” she hisses quieter, pinching for good measure.

 

“Ow,” is the flat response she gets. “I’m alive Charlie,” he says louder.  

 

“Thank god,” she mutters, dragging him up to sitting position so she can stand on shaky legs to do a higher scan.

 

“You alright?” She asks once she is certain the area is clear from intruding eyes and he is standing. 

 

“Hurts like hell to get knocked on your ass but overall alive. You?” She nods her response, checking him for injuries quickly as he does for her. “Glad that’s done with. Listen, we have to go.”

 

“I know, we have to report this to Gibbs -,” 

 

He shakes his head, shushing her quietly. He scans the surrounding area too, pushing her to his side as he does a 360. 

 

“Not Gibbs. We have to lie low because we don’t know if the leader is still around.”

 

“Nick,” she says quieter, “we can’t do that. We have to report this.”

 

“We’re undercover B. I know you’ve done this before but you haven’t been undercover with sharks.” 

 

“This isn’t my first time undercover” she begins to snap, a flash of guilt going through his eyes as she forces herself to exhale. She bends to her knees, feeling the world begin to spin again.

 

“We stay alive anyway we can because if they find out we’re NCIS, we die or we blow this shot.” She worries her lip a while before nodding.

 

“Fine. You’ve got a point. I’m trusting you to keep us alive.”

 

“We find a place to lie low and wait for this to blow over.”

 

“I think there was a motel a little over ten minutes away.” She tosses him the keys from her jacket and begins to walk to the van, letting him follow.

 

She can feel the adrenaline from the blast come down, the tenuous grasp she had on not fainting leave every step she gets closer to the van before climbing in and slamming the door.

 

“You alright?” Torres says as he slides into the driver’s seat., the engine turning over immediately as he guns it away from the bridge. 

 

“Headache,” she begins as he drives absurdly fast for eleven on a weeknight. “Watch it,” she says as he just barely slows for a stop light, jostling her in her seat. 

 

“Whoa wait, I thought you said you were fine,” he says as he pulls into the parking lot of the motel they saw. The place is dingy and sad, but it’s the best to be done on short notice than falling asleep in the van.

 

“Well I don’t have a concussion to my knowledge so we’re fine,” she says, wincing as she moves to take her seatbelt off. She grabs the go bags that are in the back, leaning back for them. He’s gone in a flash, not even bothering to have buckled himself in as he moves to the passenger’s door.

 

“Bishop, you’re the only person I can trust while we’re doing this so having you alive and conscious  _ is _ a priority,” He says as he helps get her down. She resists the urge to snort as he helps up, bracing herself against the cool night air. 

 

“Lean on me,” he says as she rolls her eyes, regretting the gesture as she does so.

 

“Will you relax?” She grits out but not refusing the way that he steadies her to take a few steps forward. She really wishes to get into the motel quickly to get her wool leggings on because this weather with this dress just wouldn’t do. 

 

The walk to the counter is hard but she manages, leaning against Torres as her hand wraps around his bicep to keep her upright.

 

“Can we have two rooms for the evening?” Nick says as she focuses on various things to keep the world from spinning. The ugly beige blends everything together but does the trick. There’s a kid who’s around college age at the front typing at the computer, an old model of PC. She thinks of various ways that computer could be hacked to help keep her upright but fails, slumping more and more onto Torres that she has to wrap her arm around his waist too. 

 

“Sorry babe,” she says, getting a hold of staying upright while dealing with a maybe slight concussion. Who really knew at this point. He makes a noise of agreement, helping her stand as he puts his own arm by her waist. The warmth of his way more durable sherpa jean jacket seeps into her own body reminds her that she’s very cold, the spray from the marina sticking to her like she walked through light rain.

 

“Uh sorry, we only have the one,” the kid says. She does snorts as Nick looks to her like he wants her to say something.

 

“We’ll take the damn room,” she says, slurring her words only half intentionally as she feels the room sway around her. The kid taps in something just as Torres says something and she barely keeps herself from slipping to the floor. 

 

“Okay no, give me the key,” he snatches the key from the kid and steadies her to the elevator. “Do not go to sleep on me Elle.” 

 

She can only groan as she presses against his side. 

 

The rest of the elevator ride and trek to the second floor is hazy and she can only catch part of his grumbling. 

 

“Are you wearing rocks for earrings? You’re a lot harder to move for looking like a bird.” 

 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” she mumbles. The opening to the door is harder but also doable as he places her on the bed gently. She grabs the shitty comforter to pull around her, kicking her heels off. 

 

“No, no,” he says, pushing her back up to sitting. “We need to make sure you’re not concussed.” 

 

“I’m not concussed,” she groans. She slides up the bed to the headboard, grabbing the blanket underneath so she could walk to get water. 

 

“Sit down,” Torres pushes her back down as she exhales. “You think I’d make my concussed partner get her own medication?” 

 

“I’m a little disoriented,” she snaps with no heat at him. She likes the fact that he’s getting the water because she uses the time to reach for the go bag she dropped by the bed to grab the wool leggings and change underneath the blanket. The sound of the faucet being turned on is all she needs to kick the boots off and wiggle into the leggings as fast as she can. Turning it off, he walks back towards her and she’s able to push the blanket aside now that the leggings had been acquired. 

 

“It’s not bottled but it’ll do,” he says, reaching into the go bag for the pouch that has all possible medication purposes within to find the advil. He makes to throw the bottle at her before he holds it, throwing it into his pocket. 

  
“What are you doing?” She says as he shines his phone flashlight in her eyes. “What the hell?” She blinks at the brightness. 

 

“Can’t be too sure. No nausea? How many fingers am I holding up?” She stares at him before she leans towards the pocket of his jacket as he’s over her. 

 

“No. Three. My hero,” she uncorks the bottle to pour two into her mouth. The world finally stops spinning enough that she doesn’t feel like passing out, thanking god that it wasn’t a concussion because she would have felt far worse. 

 

“Harpy,” he mutters as she stifled laughter in the drink. 

 

“Your concern is noted but I’m fine, honestly. I think it was just a nasty bump. Nothing that needs immediate attention.”  

 

“Well I’m glad one of us is okay,” he says, turning away to put the cup to the side of the sink. It’s when he’s moving that she notices he’s got his back hunched over, almost hobbling from one side to the other.

  
“Hey what’s with you?” She says, turning her back to him so she can get her hands under her shirt to unclasp her bra. She tosses it into the go bag as she turns to see he stood with his own turned. She sighs. “Turn back, you’re fine.” 

 

“I’m gonna sleep on the floor B, get some rest.” 

 

“Oh no, it’s your turn now,” she says as she scoots off the edge of the bed, dragging him to it. “Is your back hurt? I thought you said you were fine.”   
  


“Old injury,” he winces as she moves her down by his side, quickly, methodically, to check there wasn’t anything broken. 

 

“Yeah no shit. I thought when you told that gym woman you were faking it.” She leans back towards the bag for the advil to give him two of his own, doing the job he did for her as she makes back for the sink.

 

“You can’t fake these guns. Or that back problem,” he says wincing. “Bishop, seriously, it’s cool.”

 

“You know for an NCIS agent, you can be very stupid sometimes,” she all but helps force the advil down his throat, the water washing down as his adam’s apple bobs. “Besides. We can share a bed together.” 

 

“It’s a queen size,” he looks at her with a look that says what are you doing.    
  
“I’m not making you sleep on the floor when you have a back issue. Damn Torres, you think I’d let my partner sleep on the floor?” she throws back at him as he shrugs off his jacket. She stares at him from the bathroom door, daring him to say anything when he holds his hands up.

 

“Okay,” he says, pulling his own boots off. 

 

She rolls her eyes once more, grabbing a spare shirt from the bag to take with her into the bathroom. While there, she takes off as much of the mascara as she can when she remembers she left her bag of makeup in the other run. Cursing herself, she leans out the door to see if he’d been changing to see a flash of skin, turning back to the mirror quickly. 

 

“I didn’t see that,” she mutters to herself, making do with a paper towel to the side and water to get the eyeliner off. She comes back to see that he’d fallen asleep already, one side of the bed taken up by him. 

 

“Night,” she says again, turning the lights in the room off to get a muffled ‘night’ in response. Sliding to the other side, she tries to go to sleep and hopes that Gibbs won’t be too mad at for them. 

 

\-- 

 

Sometime in the middle of the night they drifted towards each other, is the only reason she can come up with, when she wakes up to find herself hugging Torres, a leg thrown over his. The weirder thing is that he’s hugging her back, an arm slung across her torso and he’s really warm to the point of uncomfortableness. The sad excuse of the blanket cover their legs more than anywhere else.

 

“Shit,” she murmurs quietly when the sunlight streaming in falls on her face. There was a curtain they didn’t manage to close enough last night that woke her up. Her saving grace is that when she checks the wall clock to see it says 7 a.m. She leans back for her phone, turning it on because she was too lazy to charge it last night, and waits for it to boot up. Understandably, there’s a stream of angry messages from Gibbs to check in immediately. Carefully extricating herself from the bed, she halts when she hears his breathing change. He turns over, mumbling something and she’s able to pull her leg away and bolt to the floor as quietly as possible. 

 

“ _ Went to grab food, _ ” she jots in a pad found from the drawer beside the bed. She swipes the key from the side and walks outside with her shoes in hand, waiting until then to put them on and make a beeline for the elevator to find the nearest place with decent food. 

 

“It was cold last night,” she coaches herself as she tries to keep her mind off the fact that she shared a bed with Torres, ended up  _ hugging  _ him. He wasn’t even nowhere near her type and besides, he was her partner for the undercover op. It’s not even like they hadn’t shared the same bed before, but this was the first time they ended up embracing each other. She shakes herself together, trying to recall any restaurants around to keep her mind from reaching her thoughts, her own stomach growling. 

 

One ten minute jog later, she finds a semi reputable coffee shop and grabs four bagels and two coffees, eating one on her way back to the motel. The jitters leave her, the coffee and bagels doing wonders as she waits for the elevator to drop her off at her floor. 

 

She’s right outside the door, getting the key in when the door opens and Torres is on the other side

 

“How did you know that was me?” She raises an eyebrow, ready to grill him on the sheer recklessness of opening the door to anyone. 

 

“Your footsteps,” he says. “And your note.” 

 

“Well,” she responds, holding the bag in her hands as a peace offering. 

 

“Gibbs,” he says, his face unhappy as she nods, downing part of her coffee in one go. 

 

“Breakfast,” she hands to him, coffee first as she goes for her second bagel. “We’re so busted.” 

 

“Put it on me,” he grimaces, sipping his coffee.

 

“That’s stupid,” she narrows her eyes, grabbing her dress and making for the bathroom, keeping the door open slightly to yell at him as she chews and swallows quickly. She throws her shirt to the side, slipping the dress on and crying inside at the loss of warmth as the leggings go.  “I also agreed with you. We’re both getting our asses handed to us.” She slaps on cold water and mascara quickly, doing a decent job if she had to say so herself.

 

“My hero,” he deadpans as she smirks at him, leaving the bathroom in last night’s clothing. “Do I look like the part?”   
  


“You look fine,” he says, grabbing his jacket as he puts the rest of their stuff they took out of the go bag in (nothing, besides a change of clothing of each) and tosses it onto the small table to the side for her to put her things away. 

 

“Here’s hoping Gibbs isn’t too pissed,” she raises her coffee at him as he chuckles, herding them both out immediately as possible to make it to the diner Gibbs told them to meet at when they got his messages.

 

They don’t talk about the motel when they get into the van, but they drive in blissful silence. It’s all part of the op anyway, knowing that Torres is someone else undercover, that he’s got a bunch of aliases ready at the drop of the hat and it’s a different side she doesn’t see that often. She’s thankful that he doesn’t say anything, only striking up a light argument when she changes to NPR from his regular station. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. a missing scene because you cannot tell me they were undercover for two weeks and not give me everything i need 
> 
> 2\. i definitely played fast and loose with concussion symptoms so that's on me if you happen to have actual experience and find yourself annoyed by the utter offhandedness of this


End file.
